Pink Ribbon Girl
by nivona
Summary: On the precipice of heading to college and growing up, Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry have a lot to learn. About themselves and each other. Will they leave Lima, on their separate paths, as nothing but a distant - and somewhat annoying - memory of each other? Or will their friendship flourish in the months leading up to the end? Or is it just the beginning for these two?
1. Chapter 1

**I Am Not a Robot/Marina and the Diamonds.**

* * *

It wasn't something she intended on doing, not even something she'd thought about, but as Santana Lopez wordlessly slipped the bottle of hot pink dye into her hand on the last day of summer, Quinn knew exactly what she wanted to do. This had been the day she found out she'd fallen pregnant with Beth. Last year she had ignored this day completely, but this year … she was struggling. She had intended on spending the day with Santana but even _she _could see that Quinn was hurting.

Santana had left Quinn waiting at the bust stop while she jogged across the road, ignoring Quinn's confused remarks. When she came back, she handed Quinn the hairdye and said nothing. That's when Quinn realized there was something wrong with Santana too – the normally quick-witted cheerleader had been unusually quiet all day, of course, Quinn had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Beth to even notice.

"You're quiet," Quinn commented mutely, staring at the hairdye in her hands – Santana still hadn't said anything about that yet.

"Well aren't you observant," Santana smirked, rolling her eyes.

"Sit down," Quinn murmured. "Talk to me."

"Oh come on Q, don't be daft," Santana snapped. "You know we never talk; _especially _when I'm fighting with B and your deeply disturbing Mummy issues are getting in the way of our shopping."

Quinn swallowed. "… You're fighting with Brittany?"

"Shut it," Santana met her eyes with a fierce glare. "Just because you're fucked up right now does _not _mean you can try and meddle with my issues. You can't fix me and I can't fix you. Actually, you know what? I'm going to walk home. God knows I'm going to have to get fit again before cheerleading season if I want to survive … Oh _wait_, you _don't _know because you quit the team!"

Quinn didn't say anything – didn't even cringe under Santana's death glare – she just stared at the bottle of pink hairdye in her hands.

When she looked up, Santana was already walking away.

* * *

"Jesus," she muttered, staring at herself in the mirror. She didn't care about using that word in vein anymore … she never really had cared. Her hair was crazy. It was _pink _– vivid pink.

How was she going to go to school like this tomorrow?

Quinn couldn't care less about her parent's thoughts on her new look and she realized that, at this point, they probably didn't even care either. Her dad was locked in his office – where he now slept most nights – and her mother was out, most likely at the pub.

And hey, she'd already come home pregnant, who cared about a little hairdye?

After having Beth – and subsequently losing her – Quinn could face anything. She could face Will Schuester and his unhealthy, obsessive need for his Glee Club to succeed, she could handle people judging her and she could handle the evidence of holding Beth inside her body for nearly a year scarred across her stomach. She could handle Santana and, now that she'd quit the Cheerios for good in favour of pursuing her academic career, she could even handle Sue.

Quinn stared at the cross necklace that hung on her mirror. That's where it stayed, these days – not even her own mother cared enough to wonder about Quinn's wandering faith. Even if she had noticed, she would just assume it was Quinn rebelling or being a bad daughter and that Quinn was not, in fact, questioning her religion completely.

But Quinn _was _questioning a lot lately and how the hell was she meant to believe in something that wouldn't even _accept _her and most of her friends? Everyone sins today, _everyone_.

Logging onto Myspace rendered completely useless these days – now that the world and most of her friends had moved onto Facebook and other social networking sites – but Quinn still did it.

_Force of habit_, she told herself. She'd spent a huge part of her junior year logged onto Myspace – taking provocative photos with Brittany and Santana and basking in the hundreds of comments they'd received from horny guys.

She never really read those comments, though. They fell on blind eyes when it came to Quinn Fabray. There was only one comment that really mattered – one comment out of 1, 007, on a picture of Quinn in a bikini; pouting seductively at the camera as her long blonde hair toppled past her shoulders. Yes, there was only one comment on that photo that, on nights like this, she found herself staring at.

_**2:46am: You're a very pretty girl, Quinn.**_

She remembered that this particular commenter had a very strict sleeping schedule and the timing of the comment often tickled her curiosity, but it was more than just that.

Quinn huffed out a breath, bringing her laptop over to her bed and clicking through the link that took her to that disturbingly familiar profile page. She was chewing her lip already. She could see the reflection of her hair in her computer screen. She was a new person with this hair, she decided.

As she scrolled through the thousands of videos on this particular Myspace profile, glimpsing every now and then at the thumbnails on the right, she continued chewing her lip until she found the video she wanted.

She read the caption as she waited for it to load. _**Uploaded 3 minutes ago**__. _Right on schedule. It wasn't intentional, she told herself. When you harass and taunt a girl for over two years – mainly through maliciously snide video comments – you get used to their rigorous video uploading schedule.

Quinn clicked play and her eyes fluttered shut as Rachel Berry's voice filled her bedroom. She turned the volume down as a very un-Berry-like song blasted through her tinny speakers. Judy Fabray had walked in on Quinn watching Rachel's videos once before and a very homophobic, prejudice rant and many shouts of "_GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!" _coming from Quinn's end later, it had been clear that it would be best if her mother didn't catch Quinn watching the videos again.

Quinn's parents _loathed _Rachel Berry and her father's and they fully expected Quinn to follow suit.

Rachel sang and Quinn watched intently, not really listening to the lyrics of a surprisingly depressing pop song. She loved to watch – the intricate hand gestures, the way those eyes tightened as Rachel forced out a note higher and busting with more emotion than the last … The way she held herself, briefly swaying with the music before falling into the climax of the song …

Quinn was holding her breath as the screen faded black. She was holding her body taunt and only letting her breath come out in small busts until the explosion of emotions crashing inside her subsided. With shaking fingers, she pulled open the comment box.

It seemed foreign now, for it had been so long since Quinn had provided any evidence that she even knew these videos still existed. She was a new girl now and she wasn't going to hide. She wasn't going to sit around and pretend she was okay, because she wasn't.

She hadn't been okay for a very, _very_, long time. God, had she ever been _just _okay? Was there ever a time when she was actually even _content _with the life she was living? Had she ever been properly satisfied?

It scared her when she realized she didn't even know what it felt like to be _happy _with the life she was living. It scared the hell out of her.

It was that thought that pounded all the way to her fingertips, causing them to rush across the keyboard. The tapping echoed across her room, mixing in with her shallow breathing.

Her heart pounded and her fingers stopped moving. Her mouse only hovered for a moment before she clicked the Submit button. She'd long since changed her username, but her display picture was still the same. Rachel would know straight away who the comment was from – especially considering it was the only one there. There was no running away from this now.

_**Q_Fabray (2:46am): Your atrocious plaid sweater is distracting me Ru-Paul, but thankfully the only thing I'm being distracted from is your mediocre talent.**_

* * *

"And _don't _come back to Glee Club!"

With a huff of air and a roll of her eyes, Quinn strode out of the choir room. Of _course _Rachel-fucking-Berry had taken the comment to Mr. Schue and _of course _he – for the most part – had completely overreacted.

Quinn didn't care though; this was what she wanted – a fresh start. Cut completely free of the boys and the singing and the melodramatic people that got in the way. No cheerleading, no Glee, nothing.

Santana and Brittany had stormed out after her – she'd heard Brittany mumbling that no one could break up the Unholy Trinity – but Quinn knew she'd be safe, hidden here beneath the school bleachers. No one came out here except for the school skanks and burnouts and all of them had gone home hours ago.

Even if they had still been here, Quinn realized that they would probably just take her in as one of their own – especially with her new hair and spontaneous change in wardrobe. Quinn smirked at the dusty ground. _Her _as a skank … now _that _was an interesting concept, to say the least.

Of all the reactions from the Glee Club towards her hair, there was only really one that shocked her. Santana had pretended to be surprised, telling no one that she had known what Quinn was going to do. It seemed that Brittany and Santana had made up from whatever they'd been fighting from because Brittany had announced that Quinn's hair looked like a pink marshmallow and Santana had grinned approvingly, even though Quinn had rolled her eyes.

Sam and Kurt were clutching each other as they laughed at her openly. Puck and, to her surprise, Finn, were appraising her with raised eyebrows and slight arousal in their features. Artie, Mercedes, Tina and Mike had all grinned at her before returning to their conversation. Aside from an exclamation of _'Cool!' _from Sugar, they seemed to be the only ones who hadn't realized that Quinn's new hair wasn't a joke, or even a big deal.

But it was Rachel Berry that had reacted most dramatically (which, in itself, wasn't at all surprising). Quinn had been expecting a long rant about the comment she left on Rachel's video last night – and oh, she'd gotten that rant later – but when Rachel first saw Quinn striding into Glee Club, she squeaked.

Quinn watched her with raised eyebrows, feeling amused as the brunettes eyes practically bulged out of her head.

"Quinn … I … I … " she'd stumbled over her words as they died in her throat, before she walked over to Quinn and without asking, or even hesitating, she ran her fingers through Quinn's hair. Quinn had been shocked by the sudden gesture and her breath had caught in her throat as Rachel licked her lips and smiled at her. "It looks amazing."

It had taken a moment for Quinn to compose herself, but when she did, she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, Man-hands."

* * *

In the end, it was Sam that came after her. She'd known _someone _would before rehearsal was over, but she'd expected Santana or, god help her, maybe even the eccentric Diva of the Year herself, but instead, Sam approached her, hands shoved in his pockets and a hesitant smile on his lips.

"Hey Quinn," he kicked up some of the dust on the ground and leant against the post of the bleachers. "I like your hair."

Quinn rolled her eyes and didn't return his smile. "That didn't stop you from laughing with Kurt before," she said. "What? Are you guys dating now or something?" Although she still wasn't quite ready to look her former-boyfriend in the eye, she didn't miss the violent flush that spread across his cheeks. "Holy _crap_," she whistled. "You _are_. You're dating Kur - "

"No no," Sam let out a huff of air. "I um … I think I like him though, Quinn."

Quinn could feel her resolve weakening as Sam's voice took on a scared tone. She looked up and met his eyes. That boy and his god damn smile, no one could ever dislike him. "Well, ever since your big Bi-Sexual coming out last year, I figured you'd show some interest in a boy eventually. There's always someone."

Last year Sam after being blown off by Santana and then played by Mercedes, Sam took a dramatic stand. After an argument with Santana on the fickle subject of sexuality and the fact that it's not at all straight and narrow (so to speak) he'd announced that he was, in fact, Bi-Sexual. Only the Glee Club knew and, aside from Quinn and possibly Rachel, no one had really believed him. Kurt had fallen suddenly silent and Santana had let out a barking laugh. Everyone else looked sceptical and took it as a Sam-logic, or the way to win an argument. Rachel, of course, was open to any kind of sexuality, in fact she _encouraged _having a range of people around her, so she was eager to hear about this side of Sam.

And Quinn, well … she'd always wondered. Sam was just a little too … curious, a little more open then all of the other boys she'd dated. Whenever their make-out sessions got a little heated, Quinn would be the one to stop Sam from going further – for reasons she couldn't yet comprehend – but Sam had always been so caring about it, like it didn't really bother him.

So announcing that he had a crush on Kurt did not at all come as a surprise to Quinn. "What are you going to do about it?" she asked, feeling her hard exterior shake just a little as her curiosity got the better of her.

"We can talk about that all you want later," Sam huffed, getting back to his original topic, much to Quinn's dismay. "In fact, how about we have dinner at Breadstix? You know, as bro's."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "We're not bro's, Sam. We haven't spoken properly for months. And if this is some lame attempt to get me back to Glee Club, you can give up now, because it's not going to happen."

"No, I want to talk to you," Sam shook his head. "I miss you, Quinn."

"I miss you too, Sam."

"Come on," Sam didn't hesitate before wrapping an arm around Quinn's shoulder and, for once, Quinn didn't flinch away. "We have a lot to talk about. You can start with telling me why you hate Rachel Berry so much … "

* * *

"Sam, I don't think this - "

"Just answer the damn question," Sam Evans rolled his eyes from across the table and munched away on his Garlic Bread.

Quinn was getting distracted by watching that boy eat, seriously she'd never seen lips so big. But the smirk Sam carried bought Quinn right back down to earth.

"Seriously, this isn't relevant to our conversation," she stammered through her words, training her gaze on the low-carb pasta in front of her. "It has nothing to do with Rachel, it - "

"I think it has _everything _to do with Rachel," Sam cut her off. "Look, I told you Quinn, it's only fair that you tell me."

"You only told me because you're obsessed with this new-found side of yourself and you're happy to flaunt your new Bi-Sexual tendencies everywhere!" Quinn blushed when she realized she'd raised her voice and Sam continued smirking. "Sorry, that was rude."

"Hey, it's true," Sam shrugged. "I'm proud of who I am … and you should be too."

"I am _not _gay," Quinn snapped.

Sam laughed. He _laughed_. God, he knew how to push all her buttons at once, that boy. "Just answer the question, Quinn."

"I … " Quinn sucked in a deep breath and stared at the table, avoiding Sam's face all together. "Okay, _yes_, I have. Happy now?"

Sam was silent for so long that Quinn had no choice but to look up. She regretted it immediately though, because Sam had the cheekiest grin plastered on his lips and he was watching her with knowing eyes. "Quinn Fabray has imagined having sex with girls," he whistles in a low voice. "Who would've thought? Anyone in particular?"

"I could ask you the same question," Quinn retorted smarmily. "But of course, I already know the answer to that one."

"Hey, I think about having sex with a lot of people," Sam shrugged. "Of course lately, a lot of the boys from Glee seem to be taking up my thoughts. Artie, Mike, Finn, Puck … Kurt." The emphasis he put on Kurt's name, almost purring out each letter, told Quinn a lot more than Sam ever really could. Quinn could _feel _the heaviness in the air as Sam's thoughts lingered in those inappropriate places. For once, Quinn let it happen. She needed a moment to gather her own thoughts, anyway.

Of course, this didn't stop her from blushing furiously when Sam raised his eyes to meet hers.

"I do _not _want to know," she rolled her eyes.

"Come on Fabray, spill it. Who have you thought about having sex with?" Sam pushed on with an easy smile. "You know you can trust me."

"Why am I even having this conversation?" Quinn muttered to herself.

"Because you love it," Sam laughed. "Now tell me, or I'll give you an hour worth of my Luke Skywalker impressions."

"I … " Quinn swallowed. She was sure that she'd never been so embarrassed in her life and her mind was screaming at her for opening up to Sam. She was Quinn Fabray, for god's sake, she wasn't meant to trust _anyone._ "Rachel, okay? No one else, just her."

When she looked up, Sam was leaning back against the chair with a satisfied smile on his face. "Interesting," he smiled. "Berry interesting."

Quinn couldn't maintain her composure anymore. She couldn't even feel embarrassed at her very personal confession because Sam was laughing at himself and now she was laughing too. She threw a napkin at him and he dodged it, letting out a barking laugh that seemed to come from somewhere very deep inside him. "You are a dork, Sam Evans. A complete dork."

* * *

_**11:15am: Q, just come back. Glee is no fun without your snarky comments. Not that you've been making them lately, considering you always have your fucking head in a book, but still.**_

_**11:30am: If you come back to Glee this afternoon, I'll let you buy me Breadstix. **_

_**12:57pm: Jesus Quinn, just come back. You can't spend all lunch behind the bleachers with those skanks. Come back and no one will say a word, I swear. **_

_**1:38pm: Brit misses you. Even fucking Berry wants you back; I heard her rambling about it in History. Schue will definitely accept you back if you show a little side-boob today. Just come back.**_

_**2:40pm: Please. **_

Quinn shook her head as her Santana's name flashed across the screen of her phone for the sixth time that day. She wasn't coming back and nothing Santana could say would make her. She didn't want anything to do with Glee Club. Sam, of course, had tried to convince her one last time at Breadstix last night, but she wouldn't do it.

She regretted opening up to Sam last night almost immediately because she'd woken to a dozen Facebook messages asking for details about her apparent 'fantasy's about Rachel.' She'd replied firmly that they weren't fantasies, just thoughts and that Sam should stop asking questions and start trying to woo Kurt – because god knew that that boy deserved some woo'ing.

The 'Skanks' seemed to have adopted her as one of their own almost immediately. She hated smoking, but a timid blonde that almost reminded her of Brittany offered Quinn a few tricks to not suck the putrid smoke all the way down to her lungs, but still look like she was enjoying it. These people were easy to hang out with. They didn't care about her and they didn't ask questions. This was what she needed – she didn't need pesky people, wanting to know her every thought. Especially when she herself hardly knew what she wanted, or what she was feeling half the time.

"I assume you're coming to Cloud Nine tonight, Pinkie?"

Quinn's head snapped up when a silence settled over the scattered group of burn-outs. She hadn't realised someone was speaking to her because she wasn't used to this nickname that of course, referred to her bright pink hair.

_Pinkie_ … interesting.

"W-what's Cloud Nine?" Quinn asked hesitantly, looking widely around the group, unsure who had addressed her in the first place.

"Oh baby, you have a lot to learn." It was a tall brunette with a tongue piercing that spoke to Quinn. Quinn eyed her carefully and couldn't help but appreciate the girl's courage in her outfit choices. She wore a tight black tank top that showed a good proportion of her well-developed abbs, and a bright green belly-button piercing and even tighter blue jeans. In her dark brown hair she wore bright blue streaks; if it weren't for those and the extreme wardrobe choices, she reminded Quinn thoroughly of Rachel. And Quinn couldn't, for the life of her, even remember this girl's name. "Meet me at the bus stop in town at eight o clock if you want a taste of heaven."

Quinn blushed furiously as the girl flashed her a confident smile, licking her red-lipstick lips. Her gaze was a little more intense when she looked at Quinn, compared to how she looked at the other girls and boys standing around underneath the bleachers and if Quinn didn't know better, she could almost say the girl was coming on to her.

She swallowed dryly when she realized that she actually didn't know any better.

* * *

"_Cloud Nine_? Quinn, are you fucking with me right now?"

Quinn cringed away from Santana's screeching as she cradled the phone in her neck. "Just tell me what I should wear Santana," she moaned staring blankly into her wardrobe. "You're always good at this kind of stuff."

"Quinn, sweetie, do you know _anything _about Cloud Nine?" Quinn was positively shocked to hear the sudden sympathetic lilt in Santana's voice.

Hesitantly she uttered out a nervous, "_No_?"

"Oh god, okay, sit down for a second."

"Why?" Quinn frowned, running her hands over a silver mini-dress.

"Just do it," Santana snapped. Quinn could almost _see _her rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone. Feeling sceptical, Quinn collapsed onto her bed, kicking off her shoes and staring at her wardrobe. "Okay, are you sitting down?"

"Yeah," Quinn sighed impatiently. "What are you going to tell me? What's so - "

"Cloud Nine is a gay-club," Santana's voice hitched with narcissistic glee. "Particularly catered for those of the ah … feminine preferences."

"You mean … ?" Quinn's voice was robotic, almost, and she stared at her wardrobe, hardly seeing anything. She wasn't even sure if she understood what Santana was saying and she couldn't even _begin_ to comprehend the way her stomach jolted when Santana spoke next.

"I mean, it's pussy-lovin' all the time," Santana snorted. "Quinn, honey, you're going to a lesbian club."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You might be wondering the significance of the songs at the start of each chapter? It's the current song on Quinn Fabray's playlist. Listen to them; they might have a significant importance as the story goes on.**

**Gap/The Kooks.**

* * *

She shouldn't have come.

She shouldn't have … but she wanted to. Well, not that she'd admit that to anyone except herself – and she sure as hell wasn't going to talk to Santana about this experience but … this was exactly what it was and it was exactly what she wanted: an experience.

All these thoughts – the ones she repeated over and over in her mind like a mantra on a broken record – weren't enough to make her feel less uncomfortable as she stood on the corner near the bus stop waiting for that girl. What was her name again? Quinn couldn't for the life of her remember. Kat, Kath, Kal … ? She made a point of reminding herself to just come out and ask and save herself anymore awkwardness from what was already sure to be an awkward night.

Over the phone, Santana's outfit suggestions had seemed logical – and even very thoughtful. But here, standing out on the street, Quinn felt exposed and _way_ underdressed. She wore a jet-black shift - which, yeah okay, it was meant to be a top - that was to torn around the hem. Underneath, she wore fishnet stockings – she only had them because Santana had forced her into buying them for an overhyped-Halloween party last year! – and silver high-heels that she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to walk in. She'd snapped a picture and sent it to Santana for confirmation and the loud-mouthed cheerleader had proudly announced that if Quinn swung her way, she'd totally bang her.

Quinn's stomach had lurched at that comment and she wasn't sure it had become unstuck from just below her windpipe since. Her hot-pink hair was free and messy and she wore bright red lipstick with smokey eye make-up, just as Santana suggested.

But now she thought about it, she wondered why she was even making an effort to look good – considering where she was about to go. That was, if this Skank – this _girl_ – ever showed up.

She'd slipped out of the house completely unnoticed by her parents. It was a Friday night and she could stay out all night if she wanted – not that she really had anywhere to stay, because she sure as hell wasn't going to stay with one of the Skanks, but still. The option was there and she felt more independent than she had in a very long time. If worst came to worst, she could always just text Sam and stay at his motel – his parent's were still struggling with their money issues – and Quinn didn't mind sleeping on the couch, or even bunking with Stacy and Steve. Except, Sam had mentioned something about "Phase One of Woo-ing Kurt" and Quinn sure as hell didn't want to step in on _that_. That was Sam's own near-impossible battle to fight.

But if anyone could win over Kurt, it would be Sam Evans. He could win over just about anyone, Quinn thought wryly.

Quinn was just beginning to wonder if this girl was even coming when a strong scent of smoke – and something that was _definitely _stronger than tobacco – had her glancing behind her.

"Pinkie, you showed!" It was the Skank that had invited her and to Quinn's surprise, she was alone. "Maybe you've got more potential than I thought!" Her smile widened as she openly checked out what Quinn was wearing, letting her gaze linger on her legs and breasts. Quinn shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"What … What was your name again?" Quinn asked, cringing as the girl slouched an easy arm around Quinn and began walking her down an obscure alleyway. "And, uh, where are we going? I thought we were going to a club … "

Her voice trailed off and she took her own opportunity to look the girl up and down and take in her dramatic outfit. If she thought she'd looked good before under the bleachers, it was nothing compared to how she scrubbed up now.

Her brown hair was falling loose in a surprisingly Rachel-Berry-esque style and Quinn wondered if that's why she suddenly thought the girl was more attractive, but she didn't consider that thought for too long. She wore a tight blue dress that accentuated every curve in her toned body – and the blue in her dress made the streaks in her hair look even brighter – and there was some kind of sparkly eye-makeup that she wore that made it hard for Quinn to look away. It was almost mesmerizing, the way it shone under the small-town lights.

"My name's Kate," the girl replied, lazily letting a cigarette hang between her lips. "But you can call me K. And we _are_ going to the club. Calm your tits, Pinkie."

Quinn didn't struggle out of the girls' arm-hold, simply because she didn't want to seem rude. So she let Kate lead her down the alleyway that didn't look like it lead to a club at all. In fact, this situation was looking even dodgier by the second and Quinn was just about to ask if they were _really _going to the club when Kate stopped walking, stopping Quinn in her tracks too.

Kate took in Quinn's worried expression and smirked. "Well, we aren't exactly going to get in the front with you, Newbie. I hardly see you as the type to carry around a fake ID." Quinn nodded, embarrassed and Kate's grin grew even wider. "Watch and learn, sister."

She took one last drag of her cigarette and stomped it out with her oversized army boot, before letting go of Quinn's shoulder and kicking twice at a door that hid half-obscured by the graffiti-laden brick wall.

Quinn jumped a little when the door swung open, bringing the bitter scent of sweat and alcohol wafting out with it, and the dull thump that had been slowly pounding into Quinn's skin transformed into a deafening roar, broken only by the shouts and laughs that came from inside the club.

"Buster, it's me. K plus one," Kate shot Quinn an easy smile before loosely grabbing her wrist and pulling her through the door.

Quinn's eyebrows shot up when she realized that 'Buster' was a petite bouncer, with a dark cap and black overalls – she would never have picked the slight woman with tattoo's spread across both arms, like a snake curling across her chest, to be employed as a bouncer in a busy club. But when the woman gave Quinn a once-over, with fierce green eyes and an even fiercer snarl curling on her upper-lip, Quinn didn't doubt for a second that this woman could handle a fight.

Quinn was about to say something – she wasn't sure _what _yet, but she didn't want to seem impolite to Kate, who, surprisingly, was actually being quite nice – but her eyes locked on to the pounding club scene in front of her and for the first time in her life, she was rendered completely speechless.

Of course, she _told _herself that the sudden dryness in her mouth had absolutely _nothing _to do with the woman throwing themselves over poles, swaying to the suddenly erotic music, flashing cheeky grins to the club-goers as they ridded themselves of another piece of clothing. Quinn _forced _herself not to stare at the women grinding against each other, or the few men that palmed themselves through their jeans as they watched all of this play out. Suddenly her heart was pounding and she couldn't believe she was here and _god _why didn't she want to leave yet?

She should be running a thousand miles, she should be disgusted and horrified but she couldn't, for the life of her, even look away.

"No need to start salivating yet, Newbie, we're only just getting started," Kate winked at her, grabbing loosely at her hand again. This girl really didn't have a problem with personal space, did she? "Let's get you a drink. I can tell you've never been here before – you've probably never even been to a normal club before!" She let out a booming laugh and began dragging Quinn through the crowd and towards the bar, manipulating her way through the grinding women and leering men and pulling Quinn along with her. "Well let me tell you, this ain't a normal club. This is a night that you're not going to forget."

* * *

Quinn struggled to keep up with what this girl was saying – and she told herself very firmly that that was _not _because of the brunette who had just stripped off her tight white shirt to reveal a pair of very perky breasts but because Kate talked at a very unnatural speed that only the likes of Rachel Berry could keep up with.

For a moment, Quinn thought about Rachel Berry standing in a club like this, surrounded by aroused men and even more aroused women. The thought was so ridiculous that a bark of laugher erupted in her throat and as Kate pulled her to the counter of the bar and ordered her a lime vodka, she was reduced to a fit of giggles.

"So Pinkie, do you have a boyfriend?" Kate leant against the bar and watched Quinn laughing with an amused smile. She quirked an eyebrow and leant even closer to Quinn. "A girlfriend?" she purred.

"I," Quinn blushed and choked a little on the thick, smoggy air of the club. "No. I'm single."

She didn't know why she didn't clarify that she preferred the attention of boys; she figured it didn't really matter.

"Good to know," Kate smirked. "TJ is working the bar tonight, so feel free to have as many drinks as you like – he's always had my back."

'TJ' turned out to be a gorgeous African-American, who wore a gold hoop earring in his right ear and a turquoise nose stud. His dreadlocks were pulled back with a silver head scarf and he winked at Quinn as he handed her a bottle before shouting something incomprehensible over the pounding music. Even though Quinn couldn't hear a word he was saying, he was smiling as he said it, so she nodded and smiled back.

Both girls downed their drinks rather quickly, eager to get out on the dance floor. Quinn noticed TJ watching them with a pleased smile and she let her gaze roam around the booming club. It was a different world in here, different to the Lima, Ohio she'd been bought up in. It was going against everything she'd ever known, everything her overbearing parents had forced upon her and, in that moment, she wasn't afraid to admit that she loved it. She loved the ecstasy crackling in the air and the way that she felt like someone else. She didn't know who she was in here, but she sure as hell wasn't Quinn Fabray anymore.

* * *

Too many drinks and a lot of laughter later, the girls found themselves in the abyss of the dance floor. For a Skank, Kate was surprisingly easy to talk to – and she seemed to find Quinn's uprightness absolutely hilarious. Quinn could only laugh at herself as Kate pointed out how tense Quinn looked and from that moment on she'd promised herself to be less tense. This was one night, one experience – she could at least make the most of it.

So Kate had dragged her onto the dance floor. It was terrifying. Sweaty bodies pounded against each other, rocking in time with the music, losing themselves in the mass of people. Quinn could see sloppy embraces happening around her – of all varieties. People of all types, of all genders, were coming together on this one dance floor, to this one song, in this tiny town and Quinn had never felt as if she belonged more anywhere else. At first she was nervous, she didn't know how to dance, or how to look care free like everyone else. She was used to holding herself together, being composed and polite … but when she saw how _happy _these people looked, how absolutely carefree they were and how easy it was for them to just let go completely, Quinn realized she wanted that too.

She didn't want to _care _anymore.

So, when Kate's arms encircled sloppily around her waist, Quinn just let it happen. She was in the limbo between tipsy and drunk and she'd never felt better. The music was the blood pounding through her veins, it was the way Kate's fingernails dug into the exposed skin in Quinn's hips and it was the way that Quinn leant back, resting her head on Kate's shoulder and just letting herself sway along with the music.

"Jesus Pinkie."

The song was reaching a climax and fists were pumping. Quinn was sweating and her head was spinning and her heart was pounding and, _god_, she couldn't quite catch her breath. Kate was laughing in her ear – not the booming laugh she'd seen earlier that night, but a husky, drunken chuckle that Quinn was sure was only meant for her ears.

They danced for a long time. While people fell drunkenly to the floor or stumbled off to have drunken sex in the alleyway outside, Quinn and Kate remained dancing – until their feet hurt and their eyes began drooping shut and the consistent throbbing in Quinn's body became too much to bear.

"Com'on doll, 's getcha home," Kate was slurring now – whether it was because she was too drunk or too tired to speak properly, Quinn didn't know, because she herself was too drunk to wonder. TJ waved goodbye as the girls stumbled out of the club and Quinn blew a kiss back.

It was only when they were out on the street, leaning on one another and gasping in the fresh air that Quinn realised she couldn't go home.

"'m too drunk," she mumbled into Kate's shoulder. "K, they … can't think I've been … gay club."

"D'you have anyone to call?" Kate asked, murmuring into Quinn's hair.

Quinn thought hard for a moment before fishing her phone out of her bra and dialling the only number she could remember in her drunken state.

* * *

"Jesus Quinn, are you sure you're not a lesbian?" Sam was smirking down at her from his tiny bed and watching as Quinn rolled around on her makeshift bed on the floor. "First you admit to thinking about sex with _Rachel _and then you're hanging around with the Skanks on a daily basis and now, look! I mean, _Cloud Nine_, seriously?"

"Please Sam, can you just forget I ever told you that? It's not a big deal." Despite her casual words, Quinn was blushing furiously. "Just because I went to a gay club doesn't make me gay," she grumbled into her pillow. It was ten in the morning and how the hell was Sam this perky? They hadn't even had coffee yet. "And, for the record, I actually had a good night!"

Sam had been all too happy to pick her up last night – turns out his plans with woo-ing Kurt were only in planning, so she wasn't interrupting much - and he hadn't asked anything when she crawled onto a pile of blankets on his floor. But, naturally, he'd had questions this morning and it was only fair that she answered them.

"I'm just saying … " Sam shrugged. Quinn stuck her head up and glared at him, but that only caused him to laugh even more because her pink hair was sticking out in all directions and there were black rings around her eyes from all the makeup. "That Kate girl was mighty hot too. Are you sure you guys didn't hook up? You said you had a good night … Was it because you finally got lucky?"

Quinn groaned again, burying her head under the mass of blankets she'd buried herself in. "No," her voice was hardly audible under the blankets, but Sam craned his neck and listened. "I thought you only had eyes for Kurt," she laughed. "But you're right, Kate was nice and she is very pretty; I think I'll hang out with her again. _As friends. _Maybe we won't hang out at a gay club though."

"You know what you could do?" Sam asked chirpily.

"What?" Quinn snapped.

"Hang out at a _Glee _club."

She blindly threw a pillow at him and went back to sleep.

* * *

People looked at her differently now. Eyes followed her, lustful gazes and lowered lashes. Boys and girls watched her, from ahead and behind, as she strode down the hallway, chin raised, hand on her hip. It wasn't just the pink hair – although, she was more than a little aware of how the bad-girl look suited her – it was her outfit, her entire demeanour.

The long skirt that showed just a hint of her hard stomach – she was proud of these abbs, the ones she'd worked damn hard to get them back after Beth, so why not show them off? – had been shoved on in the girls bathroom. She'd come to school in her Cheerios uniform – her mother still didn't know she'd quit the team and she couldn't really be bothered having _that _particular conversation – and changed before anyone saw her. She knew this outfit was radical, but hey, wasn't that the look she was going for?

She didn't particularly care about her time at school, anymore. Her strict study routine and constant pursuit of academic excellence made it easy for her to get A's without really trying. The only subject she constantly thought about, not to mention _sought out_ advice on, was art. She was still trying to get her head around the concept and reasoning behind the paint and brushes before she would feel ready to actually create something.

Her decision to take up Art came after she'd quit the Cheerios. Now that she didn't have daily practices to keep up with, she had time for an extra class. She was already excelling in everything academically, so she figured it might look good on her CV to have a creative subject too. If Rachel Berry could boast continuously about her chances of getting into NYADA, then Quinn could silently look through her own options. She knew she had the brains to get into an Ivy League school, not to mention the money safely stashed away in a bank account that couldn't be unlocked by anyone but her, but … It was a scary thought.

She could potentially get out of Lima. For good.

That was something she'd never dared to let herself think, or even consider. From a young age, she'd seemed to accept it as an inevitability that she would one day marry a Finn Hudson, pop out a few children and maybe work at a mediocre law firm or, worse, as a real estate agent. Her parents had told her about the 'proper' life and her dreams and hopes of one day escaping this suffocating town did not fit in neatly in the confines of their box of dreams for their youngest daughter. Charlie had run away, escaped into the narrow streets of Venice – well, at least that's where Quinn _thought _she was right now. Quinn never really blamed her sister for cracking under the pressure. The two girls were manufactured and sculptured perfectly by their parents. They were bi-products of lives filled with unsatisfying routine _every single day. _

But now Quinn dreamt. She broke the rules her parents had locked her into from such a young age and she contemplated pursuing her dreams.

_Her _dreams. Not her mothers or fathers, or her tightly-knit Christian family, or the people at church. Not her teachers or even friends. Not Pucks dreams, or any of the boys. _Her _dreams and her hopes. For the first time she was chasing these and she'd never been more terrified.

To be thrilled and completely petrified was something completely new to Quinn Fabray; and she had to admit … It didn't feel too bad.

* * *

" … Quinn?"

_No. _Quinn knew who it was, even before she looked up from lighting that disgusting cigarette that sat between her lips. Already, she became aware of the Skanks quietly appraising the newcomer – judging and silently making fun of her.

_No._ No one was allowed to do that. No one who didn't know her could judge the girl that now stood timidly in front of Quinn, clutching her bag strap with huge brown eyes, filled with hopes and dreams and all of the things Quinn loathed in her.

"What do you want, Man-Hands?"

Rachel Berry didn't cringe at the nickname, she didn't even flinch and that in itself frustrated Quinn even more. She hated that she no longer had any visible effect on the diva, she hated that she couldn't _see _the hurt flickering across her features.

She wanted to see it. She wanted Rachel to hate her; but this girl just would not _quit._

"I … I came to see how you were." To her credit, even as Rachel stammered out the nervous words – that were obviously a lie because Quinn knew just by looking at her that the only thing Rachel wanted to talk about was Glee Club – she didn't even look particularly flustered. A gentle blush danced across her cheeks, but that always seemed present when Quinn was around her. She put it down to intimidation – Rachel was scared of her.

But, if she was so scared, why would she bother coming back? Time after time.

"I'm fine," Quinn clipped out, taking a short drag of her cigarette. The taste was still as revolting as ever, but god knew that Quinn Fabray was good at masking her true emotions.

"Good," Rachel pressed her lips together in that '_I don't believe you' _smile Quinn knew so well. "I was, uh, I wanted to know if I could speak to you as friends, actually. You know, alone."

A few things happened at once, then. The first being Quinn's heart rate picking up considerably, the second being a low wolf-whistle that Quinn was sure came from Kate's direction. "I … " Her heart was still pounding – god, _why?_ – and she couldn't seem to swallow all the saliva in her mouth, so she took the cigarette from her lips and stomped it under her worn boot as she scratched desperately for more time to compose herself – and her uncontrollable body – before meeting Rachel's eyes again. "We're not friends."

"_Please_ Quinn." And, oh, there it was. Quinn rolled her eyes at Rachel's over the top attitude came out to play. Those huge eyes, the quivering lip, the prolonged eye contact that, in normal circumstances would make Quinn uncomfortable, but now only contributed to the acceleration of her heart rate.

"Fine," Quinn cut her off before Rachel – or any of the Skanks, who were beginning to grow rowdy – could say anything else. "Let's go."

* * *

She didn't know how it happened. She didn't know and she didn't care because all that took up her confused – _very _confused – mind was that she was sitting on Rachel Berry's bed.

She traced back the events leading up to this moment as she tried to understand exactly how Rachel had dragged her here. She talked so _fast_ and used so many words to say so little. At the time, it had seemed easier to just agree to everything she said, just to make her get to the point. But it seemed, Quinn realised as she eyed the soft toys piled at the end of the bed with mild amusement that Rachel was still yet to reach that point.

The girl in question was perched nervously on the edge of her desk, next to her pink computer. She wasn't speaking but her knee was bouncing up and down, distracting Quinn. Today she wore a navy blue dress – which, actually, in itself, was quite cute – but paired with the white knee-high socks and brown lace-ups rendered the entire outfit redundant. It still surprised Quinn that she had never fallen into the conformities or the bullying. Her questionable outfit choices and ongoing obsession for disgusting animal sweaters continued throughout all the bullying and all of the taunts Quinn threw her way.

It scared Quinn to think that maybe Rachel honestly didn't care what she thought, she wasn't going to change her eccentric ways for anyone – unlike Quinn, who followed the sheep just to survive through the social hierarchy. Well, until, recently.

"Obviously, I want to talk to you about Glee Club," Rachel burst out, causing Quinn to whip her head around and jump a little. "That is why I suggested we walk to my house. We have an hour left for lunch and I'm sure no one will miss me."

_God_, did this girl understand anything about social norms? She couldn't even carry on a conversation without scaring the crap out of someone.

"I - " Quinn began.

"But I only want to speak with you as a _friend _Quinn," Rachel emphasised, continuing to hold Quinn's gaze for unusually long. "I'm not a competitor here, or even a power-hungry star. I'm just someone who … who wants her friend to come back to Glee Club."

"That's bullshit Rachel," Quinn rolled her eyes. "You only want me because you won't have enough numbers to qualify for Nationals if I don't."

Rachel blushed. "Well, I … yeah. But you are my friend, Quinn. And I _do_ care about you. I know you seem to like to pretend that the tentative steps towards friendship haven't happened between us, but they _have. _You're not an unfeeling bitch, Quinn. Actually, I think quite the contrary. I believe you have a lot of things you need to express."

Resisting the urge to snap, Quinn just sighed tiredly. Maintaining conversation with Rachel always took up most of her attention. "I'm nice to you because I feel sorry for you." The lie fell from her lips effortlessly.

"I know when you're lying, Quinn."

"_How_?" Quinn raised her eyebrow sceptically. She kept her face from changing, she didn't want Rachel trying to get inside her head more than she already could.

"You do this thing, when you aren't telling the truth. I've observed it from the very first time I saw you."

"What _thing_?"

"Your eyes, they flicker upwards and you chew your bottom lip. Also, you scratch the back of your neck – but only if you're really trying to hide something."

"I _do not_!"

"You do," Rachel insisted. "_Look_, you're doing it now!"

Quinn jerked her arm back which was absent-mindedly scratching the soft skin behind her hot pink hair. God, why did Rachel have to do that?

"You can beg all you want Rachel," for a moment Quinn froze a she realised the potential double meaning of that questionable sentence but she shook her head and pushed forward, "I'm not going to come back to Glee, though. I've moved on. I've grown up."

"Glee Club made you shine." It was a mumble. Not a dramatic whisper or an overemphasized statement – it wasn't forced, or rehearsed. For a moment, Quinn couldn't look away because Rachel looked so god damn _vulnerable _sitting there, her arms clasped tightly in her lap, her ankles entwined in a nervous stance. "Quinn … I have never seen you happier than you are in Glee Club. Not even when you were in the Cheerios. Wait," Rachel looked up, crinkling her eyebrows as she met Quinn's eyes. "_Especially_ when you were on the Cheerios. That's when you looked at your most unhappy."

It was true. Of course, it was all true.

"None of that matters now, Rachel," Quinn murmured softly; surprising herself by the sudden gentleness in her tone. "None of it matters, because I am getting out of Lima. I'm getting out of here as soon as I can. Maybe next year, even."

"And you think I won't?" _Ah_, there it was. Quinn had been waiting for the dramatic splay of hair as Rachel whipped her head up and stared at Quinn with dangerous eyes. "I am getting into NYADA early admission next year, Quinn. I am getting there and I am leaving. I'm leaving everyone behind because I am going to make it big. I will be up there with the likes of Barbra and Patti themselves. I will - "

"I get it," Quinn cut her off with an amused laugh. The truth was, she'd be happy to sit here and listen to Rachel rant but lunch would be over soon and she didn't want to be late for her Art class. "And I believe that, Rachel. I honestly do. So, you of all people, should understand that I'm not going to let anything hold me back. Glee Club, especially."

"Quinn, can I tell you something?" Rachel asked tenderly, kicking her legs off the desk and walking hesitantly over to her pink-blanket covered bed and sitting gently next to Quinn.

"I have no doubt you will anyway." She'd meant it as an insult, but her tone wasn't agreeing with her. In fact, her tone was one of … fondness? And Quinn sure as hell didn't miss the brief smile that danced across Rachel's features as she recognised Quinn's tone of voice.

"You interest me. Even through all the insults and the nicknames and … " Rachel huffed a breath and forced herself to meet Quinn's gaze. "And the pornographic pictures scrawled on the bathroom walls," she raised her eyebrows as if to silently tell Quinn '_yeah, I know it was you_' before continuing. "I put up with being slushied every single day and watched you steal my boyfriend, but … I never hated you. I never could. I tried to hate you and in my lowest moments when I was crying alone in the bathroom trying to wipe the ice out of my eyes, I even thought I'd convinced myself that I did. But … I didn't, I can't, and I don't. I want you to be my friend, Quinn. Sometimes … Sometimes I think we're getting close to that, but then you go and … "

"Go and _what_?" her tone was harsh, she couldn't help it. Quinn could feel the walls locking around her, hardening again after a brief moment of softening against Rachel's persistent attitude.

"Ruin it." Quinn was surprised at Rachel's frankness. Of course, the brunette always had _something _to say, that was a fact, but she never let Quinn see the side that was this vulnerable. Quinn was oddly intrigued, but she wouldn't dare let herself explore this side more. She wasn't meant to be close with Rachel. It wasn't meant to happen like that. "I know you want to be my friend Quinn." Quinn opened her mouth but Rachel cut her off. "I _know_ you do and that's why … " she let out a sigh and Quinn could almost _see _her building up her own walls again. "That's why I'm not going to pressure you to come back to Glee Club. You know my feelings on the matter and I know that I can't change your mind. I want you to be aware of our impending friendship though, Quinn. You can't run from it forever."

Quinn wanted to say a lot of things. She wanted to tell Rachel that she was speaking rubbish again, she wanted to tell her to just move on. She wanted to roll her eyes and ask what was so important about her friendship and why did Rachel want it. She also, oddly enough, wanted to thank Rachel. But as the girl looked on with huge eyes and a hesitant smile pressing on her lips, Quinn just let out a sigh. She took one last glance around this room, realising that this would probably be the only time she'd ever see it. Posters of Broadway stars and inspirational artists filled the walls. A familiar mirror laden with glittered stars filled one entire corner of the room. Quinn couldn't even _talk _about the stuffed toys laden around the room.

She stood and felt Rachel's gaze intently on her. She didn't turn, but she let out a soft "_Okay_." before walking out of the room.

She could've sworn she heard Rachel let out a relieved breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Scar Tissue/Red Hot Chili Peppers**

* * *

"God damn, I could eat this forever and I would die happy."

Quinn knew that the only way she was going to get Santana to talk to her again would be taking her to Breadstix. She was afraid to bring up Glee, but at least Santana had agreed to meet her; Brittany was surprisingly absent, but Quinn wasn't sure she was ready to bring _that _up yet either.

"You would die fat too," Quinn said tightly, sipping her water and levelling her gaze with Santana's. "How's the Cheerios?"

"Oh, like you care," Santana rolled her eyes. "You're too busy with your art bullshit to even care."

"Well, it's true that I don't care about the Cheerios," Quinn began, "but I care about you. And, whether I like it or not, you're my best friend."

"Whatever Fabray. Are you going to come back to Glee Club, or not? Because, let's be real here, without the Cheerios and without Glee, you basically have nothing."

In some ways, Santana was right; and Quinn absolutely hated that. Since her surprisingly interesting conversation with Rachel, Quinn had been thinking more and more about her college applications and extra-curricular activities. People like Rachel had been preparing from these things since forever, but it was only recently that Quinn had realised how much it mattered to her. Quinn wanted to succeed. She wanted to get out of Lima and she wanted to go to Yale, she decided. She knew she had the grades, and yes, being on the Cheerios for five years had to count for _something_, but if she could end the year with a Nationals title from Glee Club, then that could really put her above the rest of the applicants for the ivy-league college.

She wasn't quite sure if she was ready to go back, just yet.

"Where's Brittany?" Even as the tiniest flicker of hurt illuminated Santana's expression, Quinn didn't feel guilty. Santana knew exactly what to say to hurt Quinn the most and two could play at that game. It was always a game with Santana; always a power struggle.

"How should I know?" Santana snapped. "It's not like we're _together _or anything."

And this was where things got confusing for Quinn, because, just last month, she'd been sure that they were _exactly _that. "Care to tell me what's going on between you two? Because, I'm not feeling particularly inclined to come back to Glee if I'm completely out of the loop. You know I like to know what's happening."

"We … we're nothing, okay? She doesn't even know what year it is, Quinn, how is she meant to know about committing to a proper, functional relationship?" That was all Santana said and Quinn could see that, even that, felt like too much.

"So," Quinn took a deep breath. "That's what you want? A functional relationship?"

"Yes," Santana said in a hard voice.

"With … a girl?"

"Yes." Although both girls had been aware of this for a while now, Santana said it a little more uncertainly.

"Well, Santana, I have a proposition for you … "

* * *

"So, apparently Finnocence and Trouty are on outs," Santana glanced at herself in her locker mirror before letting it click shut. "Dunno why though, Schue shut them up before they got to the good stuff. Berry seemed particularly annoyed, though. Funny, I thought Finn was still her wet dream."

"I, uh, I think her and Finn are basically over for good now," Quinn said absently, gathering her art books and turning to Santana. "And, I think I could know why he's fighting with Sam."

"Why?" Santana arched an eyebrow. "Not that I care. You know how I like my gossip."

Quinn shook her head, shaking off her smile. It was obvious that Santana had a soft spot for Sam and, although she'd never admit it, Quinn was sure that she'd be just as fiercely protective of Sam as she was of Brittany or Quinn herself – despite whatever was going on between her and Brittany.

"I better not say anything until I know for sure. We'll just let them sort it out, hey?" Santana rolled her eyes and Quinn brightened her smile. "Okay, I have to go to art now but are we still up for this afternoon?"

Already, there was an electrically charged blush spreading across Santana's cheeks. It was unusual to see Santana nervous, but this time, Quinn could understand why. So, she reached over and brushed Santana's hand with her thumb, Santana reacted immediately, pulling Quinn into a one of those very rare Santana-hugs. Quinn loved those hugs, but she'd never admit that.

"Yeah, I'll see you then. Thank you, by the way. For … for asking."

Quinn smiled. "I'm happy to do it." She watched Santana flash her one last smile before sauntering down the hallway towards Cheerios practise. She wore that uniform with pride and Quinn couldn't deny that.

* * *

The thing she loved about art class was that it wasn't structured. On Wednesday's she had a life drawing class – after the first few naked bodies she'd become immune and no longer blushed and flustered about but instead concentrated on the way light hit certain people of certain genders – and on Friday's there was usually a tutorial, or sometimes her teacher took the class outside to draw nature. But Monday's were Quinn's favourite. The class was given free-reign to do whatever they wanted as long as they signed in. Now that Graduation and the exam period was rapidly approaching, the class was expected to use this time to start focusing on their end-of-year finale project, but hardly anyone showed up and Quinn couldn't really blame them. But she enjoyed it. It was calming.

Quinn had been looking into the arts program at Yale and, although she wasn't quite ready to don a beret and cover her favourite clothes in paint, she had to admit that she was impressed. In fact, there was an early-admission scholarship that was opening in less than a month and she had every intention to apply.

The problem was, she needed a piece of art. A portrait, to be exact. That was the only requirement on top of the regular 1000 word essay on influences and why she was applying. But a portrait. That was what stumped her. A simple display of a student's techniques and skills.

_But that's the problem_, Quinn decided as she gathered a few brushes and water colours, _there are only so many unique ways to create a portrait._

She needed something different. Something that would set her aside from the thousands of entries Yale would undoubtedly be receiving come May. For a moment, Quinn stood in the empty art room. She could hear the distant chatter from students and teachers making their way down the hall and the incessant bark of Sue Sylvester drilling the Cheerios into oblivion, but mostly there was just quietness. Quietness in her head was something she craved and rarely got.

Quinn stared at the blank canvas in front of her. It was the same canvas she'd been staring at for the past two weeks now. Every now and then her hand, of its own accord, would flick up as if preparing itself to start a line, begin the picture, but it always fell back to her side and Quinn would be stumped with that question of _who_.

_Who_ was she going to draw?

She needed this desperately. A full-art's program scholarship to Yale was exactly what she needed to show people that she was serious. She was _Quinn Fabray_ and she was serious about her future. She wanted to get out of Lima, show them all that she was better than this. She –

"Hey Quinn."

Of all the voices she'd expect to interrupt her, of all the people she expected to see when she turned around with a scowl on her lips and insult on her tongue, Kurt Hummel was _not _one of them.

Her frustration at being interrupted dissipated completely when she saw the hesitant smile on Kurt's face. She'd never really been close with the boy, but she'd always had a secret soft spot for him. He was confident, brave and he didn't give a shit what anyone else thought of him. He was everything she wished she could be and she immediately respected him for that.

"Hey." She offered him a hesitant smile as she dropped her paint brush in the pot and sat atop the table beside her easel. "What's up?"

"Well," Kurt began, wiping his hands on his designer denim jeans and sitting down next to her. "I had a free class and I'm here for two reasons. One is completely selfish, I'll admit, and the other is completely out of compassion. Though I'm sure you will have something to say about it á la Santana Lopez style." Kurt smiled tightly and Quinn rolled her eyes.

"I'm nothing _like _Santana," she mumbled. "But go on, I'm listening."

Kurt hesitated and an uncharacteristic blush spread across his cheeks. Quinn frowned and watched him until she was ready to speak. She had an inkling about what she thought he was going to say and she was waiting to see if she'd turn out to be right.

She was.

"Firstly, I'm … I'm here to talk to you about Sam," Kurt said softly, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap. "You're one of his best friends; despite his affiliation with brutish football players and scantily clad cheerleaders with questionable morals and Daddy issues."

"I resent that," Quinn said seriously. Kurt's head whipped up nervously and she grinned at him. He smiled back.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is … You seem to understand him better than most people."

"You want to talk about his sexuality," Quinn stated.

"Yes," Kurt replied bluntly. "Now I know that strict, Christian, freshman-year Quinn Fabray would've been extremely reluctant to have this conversation, but … you've changed. And I'm not just referring to your ridiculous hot pink hair," he finished pointedly.

Quinn glanced down, hearing the double meaning in Kurt's words. But they weren't here to talk about her, so she took a breath and looked back up.

"I suppose you've realised by now that he's interested in you," she said matter-of-factly.

"I … " Kurt sighed. "How can I be sure? Honey, he's the typical jock. He's been with countless girls. God, I don't even know if he's _kissed _a boy."

"That doesn't change the fact that he _wants _to kiss _you_, Kurt," Quinn said gently. She didn't miss the brief smile that lit up Kurt's features – he liked the idea, it seemed. "Look, Sam is a lot of things – impulsive and spontaneous being a big part of his personality – so, trust me when I say that I understand your fear and hesitance Kurt. But … He is a genuine person."

"What are you trying to say, Quinn?"

"I'm saying that maybe you should … give him a go? If you want to, I mean. Give it a chance," Quinn said softly.

"And what if it's just … what if it's just a phase? Or he doesn't actually like me? What if he only wants sex? What if he _doesn't _want sex? What if … What if I'm falling for him?" Kurt choked on his words. "What if I already fell for him, Quinn?"

Quinn swallowed dryly. She wasn't good at this – giving advice, being compassionate – but she liked Kurt. She wanted to be helpful. "Why was Finn fighting with Sam?" she asked suddenly.

Kurt looked somewhat taken aback by her question, but understanding filtered his tight smile and he sighed loudly. "Finn is slowly, but surely, accepting the fact that Sam's little bisexual coming out was more than just a popularity stunt."

"Of course," Quinn rolled her eyes. "He should know better, anyway. Coming out as bisexual is _not _a way to earn popularity in this school."

"That's what Sam said," Kurt sighed. "But Finn didn't want to hear it. I'm sure it's just something he's having trouble getting used to it. It'll pass."

"I'm sure," Quinn said distractedly, her eyes falling back on the blank canvas.

"You're having trouble finding something to draw?" Kurt asked politely. Quinn was sure he didn't _actually _care, but was only asking to be nice.

"Some_one_ actually," Quinn said. "I need to draw a portrait for my early-admission scholarship to Yale."

"Yale, huh?" Kurt asked. "I have to say, I'm impressed. If anyone has a chance getting out of Lima and into an Ivy League school, it's you Quinn."

"Well, first, I need to woo them with my fantastic art skills, most of which I've only acquired this year," Quinn blurted in a moment of weakness. She didn't normally let on to people when she was feeling insecure, but this was different. Kurt was different.

He was a friend. And not by the superficial standards set by the small-minded residents of Lima, Ohio, but by the real _true _standards, set by someone who you can instinctively trust.

"But you've had this skill with you for a long time," Kurt smiled. "Art isn't something you can learn, or even something that can be defined. It's something you have, or you don't. And you have it, Quinn Fabray." With that, Kurt stood from the desk, straightening the eccentric black beanie that was covering his hair. "Here's a tip, don't think about it. You need to draw a portrait, right? Well, stop thinking about who and just start drawing. Soon enough, you'll figure it out."

Quinn pressed her lips together as she considered that. He had a point, and hey, there was no harm in trying. "You didn't tell me that other thing," she said suddenly. "That you said I wouldn't want to hear."

"I'll save that for another time," Kurt said, ducking his head humbly. "Let's end this conversation on a good note, hey?" Quinn smiled. Already her hand was inching towards the paint brush that stood lonely in the pot Kurt noticed this action and took it as his queue to leave. "I'll see you in Glee."

Quinn didn't object and she didn't reply. She nodded once and turned to the canvas in front of her. The prospect of showing up in Glee practice this afternoon was both thrilling and tiring. So, instead of dwelling on that, she turned her attention back on the canvas in front of and began to pain.

* * *

She didn't know how it happened. She hadn't done it consciously and she sure as hell hadn't realised it was happening. But she couldn't think about it now, she was running late to Glee practise and she still had to wash the brown paint from her hands.

_God_, how the fuck had this happened? She felt sick. She felt disgusting. She felt like an idiot. There was no way she'd be able to submit this picture for the scholarship application – or anything _like _this picture. There was no way she could show anyone this picture.

She stared at it for one long moment, before turning and walking out the door. It was anatomically perfect and yeah, maybe it was one of the best pieces of art she'd produced yet, but the feelings of shame filtering through her were enough to leech through any inch of lingering pride.

A full length portrait. She hadn't intended it to be that way – but, then again, she hadn't intended for this to be _anything._ A few lines scrawled on a blank canvas, something to jog her creativity. But she'd started on the legs, because _those legs _were what she knew best. Those legs were the one that her eyes unwillingly followed as they walked away from her. Perfectly shaded, perfectly toned. Leading up to a tight black skirt that clung to the muscles on those perfectly proportioned hips.

Perfect, perfect, _perfect._ Perfectly breathtaking.

Perfectly wrong.

An out of character white tee-shirt hung off a perfectly curved shoulder. It blended in with the off-pink background that she'd lightly shaded as an afterthought as she tried to understand what she'd drawn. Perfect knee-high white socks reached up to the knees of this creation and the way this portrait stood indicated a stance of comfort – amusement, even.

Quinn stared at the way those lines had morphed into something more – a picture of meaning, a picture that, in the sickest way of irony, represented her entire high school life. The girl that Quinn had drawn stood, bending slightly, in a pose of laughter with her hands tucked in the pockets of that tight black skirt. Her white, off-the-shoulder shirt straining tightly over her chest.

And, oh there was a smile on her lips. Her brown eyes crinkled with laughter, her teeth subtly grazing over her lip.

But it was none of this that sent the spiral of dread into Quinn's stomach as she realised who she'd drawn. This was all okay, she couldn't handle it – the clarity of the drawing, even the feelings it was eliciting from her. Things she'd felt for so long, but could never express. Things that made her want to hide in a corner, never show her face. Things that made her wish she didn't exist.

She could handle all of that; she could even handle the way that this portrait had luxurious brown hair that toppled around her shoulders, held back from her face by only a single pink ribbon.

What Quinn couldn't handle was the gold star that she'd added to the corner of the canvas. She hadn't even thought about it – it was instinct. It was necessary. It said _everything_; everything she felt. Everything she was too afraid to feel.

It represented her absolute worst fears.

And yet, it made everything perfect.

* * *

"It's good to see you back with us Quinn," Mr. Schue's obvious relief was slightly sickening and Quinn just rolled her eyes and took her usual seat next to Rachel. She didn't know why they sat together – they hardly spoke and they sure as hell didn't get along, but that was just where she sat. That's how it had always been. Even when the girls were caught in some bitter war over a boy or a new rumour, they still sat together. Sometimes snapping at each other, sometimes saying nothing at all.

Quinn didn't even want to look at her now. She didn't want to see those familiar brown eyes or that hair and think of what she'd just drawn. She didn't want to wonder why she'd drawn it. She didn't want it.

She just wanted to run away.

She listened to Mr. Schue's comments on her hair and about Nationals and she ignored the way Rachel was beaming at her. She ignored the way she bounced her leg up and down, practically demanding attention. She wanted to tell Rachel that she hadn't come back because of her – she wanted to make sure that Rachel had absolutely no power over her. She was nothing.

But Quinn couldn't bring herself to say anything. She couldn't even bring herself to speak. She stayed silent, not even humming through the harmonies as they sang, not contributing to the discussions on possible Nationals songs and completely ignoring Finn's dumb comments and the way that – she was certain – she could hear Kurt and Sam giggling behind her.

Santana sat in the corner of the room far away from Brittany who sat with Mike, glancing over at Quinn every now and then with a smug smile on her face. Quinn returned those smiles, though, because this afternoon with Santana would be interesting.

Tonight with Santana could change everything.

* * *

Santana was late. No surprises there. Quinn stood at the same corner, wearing an outfit similar to last time. She'd mixed it up a little with a barely-there black dress and black earrings, but the torn fishnets and boots were still the same and her vivid pink hair was still styled messily. It was just before midnight and Quinn's self-assurance faltered for a moment as she considered the possibility of Santana bailing.

Just as she was about to fish her phone out of her lace bra and send a very angry text message, Quinn felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, already smiling as she met the eyes of Santana Lopez. She was impressed. Tonight, Santana wore her hair free and curled around her – despite the cold weather – bare shoulders. She was wearing a tiny red tank top that revealed more than half of her tanned, flat, stomach, and a pair of tight black jeans that hugged the girls toned legs and accentuated her best assets – _ass _being the operative syllable.

"You look really good," Quinn smiled, letting Santana lightly hug her.

"I always do Q," Santana smirked, wiping at the edge of her fiery red lips with a black-polished fingernail. "Now, are we meeting her here or what?"

Quinn was surprised at Santana's eagerness, when she'd first suggested this little experiment, she had fully expected Santana to reject the idea immediately. Instead, the feisty cheerleader had been surprisingly willing.

"She'll be here in a few minutes," Quinn said slowly, chewing her lip. This would be the cruncher. "First, I want to make sure you're okay with this. If you guys don't hit it off, or if you run into any trouble, I want you to call me, okay?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Santana said, throwing her hand up. "You're telling me that you're not coming in?!"

"Nope," Quinn said, bracing herself to face the Latina's wrath. "You deserve a good, wild night and K will give you that. If I come along, I'm just going to be a downer."

"Then why the hell are you all dressed up? Where are you going to go?" Santana was eyeing her suspiciously and Quinn could see why. She hadn't exactly been straight-up honest about her plans to take Santana and Kate to Cloud Nine tonight.

"It doesn't matter where I'm going," Quinn said, turning and surveying the empty street. She could see a leggy figure approaching, hand on hip, walking leisurely along the road. The sway of her hips and casual stature of her shoulders told Quinn that it was Kate. "Look, I want you to have a good night and if something comes out of it, then great. I really think you'll like Kate. If there's trouble, call me, okay?"

Santana nodded once, an unusual uncertainty colouring her features and turned away from Quinn. Quinn could tell that she was pissed about being set up, but she'd get over it. Quinn wanted her best friend to be happy and if this was what it would take, then Quinn would be all too happy to help.

Now, if only Quinn could concentrate on making herself happy for a while.

Actually, if only Quinn knew _how _to make herself happy.

* * *

The outfit had been a decoy. Quinn planned on going straight home, but if Santana had known that, she wouldn't have let her go so Quinn dressed up to throw her off – thankfully, it had worked. Now, she stood in her bedroom wearing a pair of pink boy-shorts and an oversized black tee-shirt that hung off her shoulder. She'd initially planned on going straight to sleep, but her parents weren't home and she was feeling uneasy. She didn't care too much about where they were, but she couldn't get the restless feeling out of her bones.

She climbed into bed, pulling her laptop in with her and switched off the light, having only the glow of her computer screen on her face. Aimlessly, she flicked through Facebook, then Myspace. It wasn't Rachel's scheduled night to update, but there was a new video posted less than ten minutes ago. That was late for Rachel. Raising an eyebrow, Quinn clicked on the video and let it load, not bothering with headphones because her parents weren't home. As she waited for the video to load, she checked the online friends. Rachel was no longer online, which means she must've posted it then logged off immediately without waiting the normal thirty minutes for comments that never came. The un-Berry like behaviour had Quinn even more curious and she switched back to the video, hesitantly pressing play.

Since her drawing today, she hadn't been able to get Rachel off her mind. This was the first time _ever _that she let herself consciously think about the girl. Quinn thought about Rachel's appearance – what made her so interesting to draw. She didn't let those thoughts filter through their normal stream of shame before recognising them. These were _her _thoughts – no one else's – and she considered them naturally, as they came to her, as they were.

The video was six minutes long – which, once again, was very unusual for Rachel. Quinn stared as she saw Rachel prancing away from switching the video camera on and standing squarely in front of it, hands on hip. Suddenly Quinn's mouth was very dry and her breathing was speeding up. What was she _doing_? Rachel was wearing a pair of tiny black shorts – that could hardly be classified as anything other than underwear – and baggy grey jacket that was only zipped up about halfway, to reveal a bare chest and tiny strip of red bra. She looked like she'd just climbed out of bed. Her hair was slightly tussled and her eyes were wild and wide.

Right now, Quinn couldn't control her thoughts. She couldn't control the way her eyes drank up the screen in front of her or the way she was unconsciously pressing her thighs together. She couldn't control the way her tongue wet her lips as Rachel began to speak – she couldn't for the life of her even concentrate on what Rachel was saying – and the way her free hand had somehow come to rest between her slightly spread legs.

"Sexuality is a fickle thing and I, for one, am not yet ready to define myself against the conformities of modern society's attitude towards gender norms and expectations."

Wait …_what?!_

Confused, distracted and unashamedly aroused, Quinn restarted the video with the intention of listening what Rachel had to say. It took three or four times before she could stop being distracted by the inch of bare legs that showed under those tiny, tight black shorts, and the way Rachel's jacket slightly sagged off her shoulders revealing surprisingly tanned skin and a glimpse of flat stomach and the corner of a red, cotton bra.

For five minutes and thirty seconds, Quinn was completely perplexed and, it seemed, constantly on the precipice of letting her fingers slip inside the cotton waistband of her underwear until finally it became too much and the world slipped away.

For the next half an hour, Quinn lost sight of everything. Everything expect for the fact that, in no uncertain terms, Rachel - wearing an alluring, completely seductive outfit - had just announced she was bisexual.


End file.
